Multimedia Reporting (Adler-Utsler)

Taylor High wakes up early; as early as 5:30 a.m. for a 6 a.m. practice. He arrives at Allen Fieldhouse before the lights come on, before the players lace up their high tops and before coach Self’s whistle starts blowing. He needs to set up for practice.
He sets up everything from the practice hoops to the water coolers, but the job has just begun. Taylor, along with his six co-workers, handles the grunt work for the entire practice. At times he even plays a role as pretend defender or as an obstacle during a drill.
Taylor goes to every practice. He watches game film. He travels with the team. But his highlights do not make Sportscenter, and he doesn’t have a seven-figure contract. Taylor is team manager for the University of Kansas men’s basketball team, and dreams of one day becoming a major college basketball coach.
He is against the odds. The great majority of college and pro basketball coaches are former players because their experience enhances their knowledge of the game. Experience also gives former players credibility with their fans and their players.
Taylor does not posses the raw talent and physical skills to be a Division 1 basketball player, so he works tirelessly for one of the best coaches in America as he pursues his dream.

The son of a basketball coach, Taylor began seeing the game from a coach’s perspective at an early age. At 13, when most kid’s jaws dropped after seeing Vince Carter jump 40 inches in the air and slam the ball through the hoop, Taylor saw an open big man under the basket, and thought one more pass would make for an easier basket.
“I like players with skills, who can actually play the game. I do not get too caught up in the raw athletic hype that surrounds a lot of young players,” High said.
That attitude separates Taylor’s view of the game from the casual fan’s. When his friends drool over the latest KU victory Taylor nit picks at the details of the game, and puts 20 point wins over teams such as Ball State into perspective.
Collin Davis, Taylor’s good friend and roommate, said Taylor is like an ESPN analyst when he watches basketball games.
“The only thing missing from our TV is a telestrator. The kid breaks down games like he’s Dick Vitale or Billy Packer,” Davis said.
Taylor thinks it is a natural occurrence after spending so much time around the game.
“I can’t help but notice the little things when I watch a basketball game. I grew with a dad who was a coach, and now I spend everyday with a top of the line coaching staff,” High said.
The opportunity for Taylor to work for coach Self and one of the best basketball programs in the country did not come with out sacrifice. Taylor made a commitment to the team, which includes working throughout the summer at youth basketball camps and giving up Thanksgiving, winter and spring breaks.
“I love basketball and I love KU basketball, but when I am not with my family on a holiday, or my friends talk about going to Mexico, a part of me wishes I could be with them,” High said.
On the other hand he gets a front row seat at some of the most exciting events in sports. For example, last year he gave up Thanksgiving in Pittsburg, Kan., to be in Las Vegas where Kansas defeated the defending national champions, Florida, in overtime.
“I admit games like the one last year against Florida really make up for lost time with family and friends, as terrible as that might sound it’s true,” High said.
In addition to sacrificing time with family and friends Taylor’s job requires hard work. His position is expendable. If he fails to show enthusiasm and effort he will lose his perks and possibly his job.
“If I want to be part of the fun stuff like going on road trips to L.A. and Boston than I have to do a little extra on a daily basis,” High said.
That little extra includes things like staying late after practice cleaning up, checking in players for curfew and offering help when help is not required.
Mitch Runco, a team manager and friend of Taylor’s, said Taylor goes the extra mile for the team and gets rewarded for it.
“Taylor is one of the hardest workers I’ve been around. He’s proud of his job and takes it very seriously. They [the coaches] take him on every road trip and give him added responsibility because he proved he can handle it,” Runco said.
Taylor hopes the hard work pays off after graduation. The next step will be to get a graduate assistant job. If not at KU he thinks a recommendation from a coach like Bill Self would serve him well in terms of being hired by another coach.
“I’ve made some pretty nice connections by working for KU. Coach Self knows a lot of people in this business. If he thinks I would be a good addition to another team’s staff than I think his opinion will carry some weight.”
Taylor’s job could take him all over the country before he ever gets a chance to settle in. The next few years will most likely be unpredictable. However, he can be sure that the hours and the work will only get longer and harder as he tries to work his way to the top of a grueling and demanding profession.

Part I: Guitar Dave

“I’ve been a brick dog for eight years,” Guitar Dave (who wanted to be referred to by his performing name in this piece) says with acoustic guitar in his leathery calloused hands outside of Signs of Life coffee and bookstore in the heart of downtown Lawrence. Books & Art, Truth & Beauty repeat in white lettering at the bottom of the giant glass windowpanes of the store.

Outside sits Dave—a 51 year-old homeless man. He often sits on the sidewalk strumming his guitar. His black hard-shell acoustic guitar case lies open. Dave has a full, black beard, wears a red bandana, dark sunglasses, blue jeans, and a black leather jacket. He describes himself as being “counter culture,” but says he wasn’t always like this.

“I was part of the original Jesus people—the Jesus freak movement,” Dave says. Then, in his senior year of college, “I had a close friend who was taken out (killed) by one of those serial killer pigs (police officers). It kind of made me realize my faith was not as strong as I thought it was. I got mad at society and God. The tragedy at Kent State affected me a lot too. I’ve been pretty much counter culture ever since” Dave says.

However, until June of 1999 Dave was a member of the workforce like most adults. He worked custodial jobs at places like Ellsworth Hall, Murphy Hall and the Kansas Union.

“Most of my time in the workforce has been spent up on the hill,” he says. When he wasn’t doing custodial jobs he was still working at the low end of the pay scale. “For 18 months I worked at the alumni center busting suds—dishwashing.”

Then, in the summer of 2000, his girlfriend of two years was found dead underneath a bridge. He said according to the autopsy she died of heat exposure, malnutrition, and dehydration. After her death Dave decided to become a full-time street musician. He had no desire to return to the workforce afterwards.

“After my woman died I had a hard time making any of this matter so I decided with the time I got left I’m going to do what I love. It’s not exactly lucrative, but that’s ok. When a coin comes down I’m grateful, but when one doesn’t I’m still doing what I love.”

What Dave loves to do is play music. Since Jimi Hendrix died in 1970 he remembers, “Practically every other kid on the block wanted to be the next Hendrix. We got guitars and got busy.”

Today his music echoes legendary rock music from the ‘60s and ‘70s. Dave cites bands like Pink Floyd, Grand Funk Railroad and Led Zeppelin as some of his musical influences.

Almost thirty years later he still remembers the time he almost got to see Led Zeppelin perform. “The year I was going to go to the concert, which was ’79, Bonham fucked up and drank himself to death. It was disappointing,” he adds.

But, long after Jimi Hendrix died and Led Zeppelin disbanded, Dave’s still playing guitar. He’s been playing for thirty-seven years. He plays seven days a week on the street (weather permitting from April to October).

When the weather gets too nasty Dave works as a bell-ringer for the Salvation Army—also where he stays during the winter months. However, he says he only does that if he’s “not doing a stint in the county.” He adds that he can make roughly $2500 if he works the six-week holiday shift.

Once the snow melts and humid sunny weather returns to Lawrence, Dave heads back to the street—unlike most local street musicians he says. “I’ve been out here longer than any of them. Most of these guys are here for a year or two seasons (two years).”

On a good day Dave can make $30 or more playing his guitar on the street. He said the best day he ever had occurred last year when he made $180 in twelve hours.

With the money he earns Dave buys cigarettes, sandwiches, and alcohol. He admits to having a drinking problem.

"I’m also an alcoholic, which means I’m not always in top form. I usually try to keep the drinking and playing separate, but it doesn’t always pan out that way.”

When in top form, Dave draws crowds and recording offers. In fact, “Four different guys over this past year have come by and said they want to record me and put it on a CD and distribute it, but so far it’s all been talk—yak yak.”

However, one man recently recorded Dave’s rendition of Jimi Hendrix’s Little Wing and posted it on Youtube. “It’s good exposure,” Dave says. As for original tracks, Dave says he’s written about ten.

Dave’s had a lot of time to think since leaving the workforce eight years ago. He’s learned from the street “It’s not about what hits you; it’s about how you handle what hits you.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kkQW1dPL92M
(Guitar Dave Playing "Little Wing" on Mass Street)

Part II: Anthony

It’s now mid-October and Dave is preparing to head back to the Salvation Army for the off-season. However, this year will be different.

Anthony Williamson, Dave’s son, is a skinny 18 year-old with a tenor voice and scraggly black facial hair (not too unlike his father’s beard) fresh out of high school. This year Williamson will be taking a year off—but he plans on spending his year off on the street with his dad (so far Williamson has been out here for three weeks).

According to Williamson, he decided to leave home after a friend of his stole some of his mother’s diabetes pills and his mother blamed him for it. “He’s a druggie and he thought it was going to get him something,” he says of his friend.

Another reason Williamson is here now is because he wants to be with his father. He remembers sneaking off to see his father play on the street when he was a kid. He says before he turned eighteen his mother forbid him to go see his father.

“Before then I’d see him every day—or as many days as I could.” Williamson is reluctant to say why his mother did not want him seeing his father. Then, his dad pipes in.
“I pretty much drank myself out of the marriage,” Dave says in his slow drawl, looking away from his guitar for a few seconds.

However, Dave’s son has had his own struggles too. Though he graduated high school last May, he says, “Nobody thought I was going to be able to do it. Except for computer programming I was pretty much flunking out of everything.”

Williamson says computer programming helped him stay focused to graduate. “I got mad skills on the computer,” he adds. Although if programming doesn’t work out, he plans to go into graphic design. “I’m an artist also,” he says.

Williamson, like his dad, plays guitar. “Him (my dad) and Jimi Hendrix are pretty much my inspiration for my guitar playing,” Williamson adds. “I’m going to be trying to get as good as him. When I get enough practice, we’re going to do Hotel California. When I’m good enough I’d like to see if I can be in some of my papa’s work.”

Five years ago, Patricia Pollet began reading true crime novels. It wasn’t idle reading, though. She considered it research. Her husband’s grandparents, Pete Wallace and Wyona Chandlee, had just been murdered execution-style in their home.

“After their death, I wanted to learn why some people are so cold-blooded that they are able to kill others for no reason,” Patricia said.

Patricia was living paycheck-to-paycheck, and wondered whether she could live better as a writer. After a little prodding by her friend, Geneva Diamond, she decided to go back to school in 2004. She planned to major in Journalism and take psychology courses on the side. Becoming a writer was not just a dream for Patricia, it was also an investment.

“A more pressing reason for coming back to school is that I want to better the future for my daughter and myself,” Patricia said.

Patricia has to balance being a student with her other responsibilities, including her daughter and her job. Patricia pays for her schooling by being a ticket-writer at the University Parking department.

“My job works with my school schedule,” said Patricia. “I've had to take time off work a lot this semester for schoolwork.”

At home, Patricia structures her day around her daughter, Gabrielle, who goes by ‘Gabby.’ Gabby is in grade school, and takes part in a youth bowling league, which Patricia coaches.

“Since working part-time, I see her more,” Patricia said. “I try and do my schoolwork either early in the morning while she's asleep or after she's gone to bed at night.”

Nobody in Patricia’s classes would realize that she was there because of a double murder. She describes herself as goofy, and lives up to it well. She still has to hold back tears when talking about Pete and Wyona, She explained to me that Gabby was their world.

“They were buried with a picture of Gabby,” she explained. “They were buried with their world.”

Patricia isn’t sure what she is going to do when she graduates. She doesn’t know anymore if she wants to write true crime novels. She is thinking about producing broadcast news.

“Maybe I will stick with that because I really do enjoy editing videos,” she said. “As with every student does at some point, I'm doubting myself. I'll get over it though, and keep in mind the eventual goal of graduating.”

The people may come and go, some of the haunted houses may have changed names, and the rats have definitely been replaced, but if there is one constant to the West Bottoms during Halloween season, it is Harry Lewezo – The Rat Man.

Starting in September and running through the Halloween season, Harry can be seen roaming around the streets under the towering vacated warehouses turned haunted houses, sticking live rats in his mouth. From scaring little kids to chasing former Kansas City Chiefs quarterback Warren Moon down the street, Harry has become somewhat of a mini-celebrity during the Halloween season. Police Officer Dan Reed, who patrols the area around The Edge of Hell, the haunted house where Harry works, has noticed the popularity of the Rat Man.

“ He is the main attraction, people from all over come just to see him,” Reed said.

While most people only know Harry from his Rat Man persona, most don’t realize that after Halloween, Harry trades the rats and his gig at the haunted houses for early 6 a.m. wakeup calls and a job installing floors.

“I am just like anybody else, working from 9 to 5,” Harry said.

Even without the costume and the rats, Harry still can’t escape his Halloween character, when he was visiting his father on the west coast, he was identified by a random person. This shouldn’t come as a surprise as Harry has met countless people in the two decades he has worked at the Haunted Houses. The people that Harry remembers the most, is the fellow “actors” that work with him, Harry likens it to a family environment.

“ Many times after work, you sit around and have a beer and talk about who you scared, or the different reactions you get, it is good group,” Harry said.

One of those people Harry met ended up becoming his wife, and even his kids currently work at the Haunted Houses. Denny Jordon, who works at the Edge of Hell, knows of two things that will upset the Rat Man more than anything.

“ Bottom line, you don’t mess with his kids….or his rats.”

Harry, who has used countless rats through the years often gives the rats away to kids or local schools after the Halloween season is over. While Harry takes good care of the rats, it still doesn’t stop them from biting Harry whenever he tries to put them in his mouth, but he has a simple solution to that.

“You just got to bite them back, one good bite deserves another.”

Before the rats and the popularity of haunted houses, Harry got his start as a youngster tagging along with his future brother in law, working at the 4H haunted houses in Wyandotte county. He has been in the business ever since. In 1984, The Edge of Hell opened up in the West Bottoms near Kemper Arena in Kansas City, and Harry officially became the Rat Man. Along with Harry, the haunted houses popularity grew every year into what Harry refers to as the “biggest and best” haunted houses in the country.

While Harry and The Edge of Hell may be widely known, it still doesn’t stop people from running away in fear when chased by Harry and his rats. One reaction Harry remembers is when a father wanted him to scare his daughter on her birthday.

“ When she saw me she turned around and ran right into a light pole, they then left to go to the hospital,” Harry remembers.

Most encounters are safe ones, but Harry doesn’t have enough fingers on his hands to count the number of times he has seen people run away, scream, or even wet their pants. Harry has enough experience to tell which people to go after.
“You can tell by the way they try to avoid eye contact, or shuffle their feet. It is easy to point those people out.”
Tom, who runs a concession stand near the haunted houses has seen all types of people get freaked out by the rat guy.

“ The girls get scared the easiest, but the guys try to hide their fear, but they don’t want to get to close to him either.”

While Harry has no apprehension about making his mouth a home for the rats, others aren’t so eager. Often times Harry will inquire if anybody else wants to hold or even join Harry in sticking a rat in their mouth. While most decline the invitation, some take Harry up on his offer.

“On a good night you can get at least three people to do it, the girls will always stick the dry end of the rat in their mouths.”

After another strong year at the box office, the haunted houses still continue to attract a large number of people each year, and as long as it remains fun, Harry wants to keep doing his part.

“It is like a bad addiction I guess.”

The phone rings on the Marine’s desk in the office in the Military Science Building. The Marine, 5 foot 10 inches, 205 pounds, with biceps that stretch the fabric of his shirt, answers it.

“Gunnery Sergeant Sheppard speaking,” Eric Sheppard says, in a quick southern accent. “Okay, I’ll be right there,” he says and hangs up the phone.

“I’ve got people ready to pee,” Sheppard says, his smile bringing dignity to his words.

In his 15 years serving for the Marine Corps, the 33-year-old from Lagrange, Ga., never imagined he would be in charge of carrying out urine tests for the Marines.

But Sheppard will do anything – anything it takes to erase the black mark on his record and get promoted to first sergeant next December.

“I’m a good Marine, but I make mistakes. I’m still waiting to one day pay for those,” Sheppard says.

It has been 13 years since Sheppard was court martialed for assaulting another Marine.

Back in 1995, Sheppard served as a drill instructor for newly enlisted recruits at the basic training camp in Paris Island, S.C.

“Basically it was my job to drive them insane,” Sheppard says, bluntly.

Staff Sgt. Shawn Ridings, 29 years old and a KU junior, can attest to the intensity of a drill sergeant.

“When they yell at you, it’s chaos. They want chaos,” Ridings says, recalling back 10 years when he enlisted in the Marines. “Their whole purpose is to break you down; to de-individualize you...because their goal is to make you part of a team.”

But not all recruits respond to chaos in the same way. One day, at Paris Island, while Sheppard and his recruits were cleaning weapons, Sheppard made a comment that pushed one recruit too far.

Sheppard made a joke to one of the recruits named Mitchell, about Mitchell’s recruiting officer. The comment made Mitchell irate.

“Recruit Mitchell came at me with an M-16 as if he was going to assault me,” Sheppard says, the image still clear in his mind.

Sheppard says he responded in the only way he could.

“At first I was defending myself,” Sheppard says. “Then it became more like a primal thing. You attacked me, I’ll attack back.”

With one motion, Sheppard hit Mitchell in the face with his own rifle, and Mitchell fell to the floor. The incident left Mitchell with more than 20 stitches, 5 missing teeth, and a broken nose – and Sheppard was court-martialed for assault.

But after 17 of 18 recruits testified that Sheppard’s actions were in self defense, the assault charges were lowered to verbal abuse instead.

“It was my mistake. I did it. There’s nothing I can do to take it back,” Sheppard says, with a sigh of regret. “I work 14 to 16 hour days because I have stuff to make up for. All my reports have to say I’m a great Marine.”

So Sheppard does all that he can to prove to the promotion board that he is worthy of the first sergeant title.

But around the Military Science Building, Sheppard has already proven himself.

“He is a first sergeant in my eyes,” Ridings says.

When Sheppard arrived at KU in Spring of 2006, he overhauled his entire Assistant Marine Officer Instructor position, says Derek Miller, a KU junior and a Platoon Leaders Course candidate for the Marines.

Miller recalls seeing piles upon piles of weapons, ammunition, and uniforms scattered on the floor of the Military Science Building while the new gunnery sergeant organized and inventoried the armory.

Miller says Sheppard also took time out of his busy schedule to help re-start up the Rifle/Pistol team. Sheppard now goes out every week to the shooting range with the team.

“He’s the kind of person that throws himself into everything he gets himself into,” says Miller, captain of the Rifle/Pistol team.

Sheppard ended up as the urine analysis coordinator when he noticed that the battalion hadn’t done a single urine test for three years. Knowing the battalion would get slammed for this in an upcoming inspection, Sheppard spent two months creating a new urine analysis program.

When Sheppard noticed that the physical training schedules were not hard enough, he volunteered to be the personal training instructor to try to improve the battalion's physical fitness test scores.

“You want to talk about pride; this man has pride in the Marine Corps, and everything he does. It’s inspiring,” Ridings says sincerely. “You should just see how this man interacts with everything. If he were a recruiter for the Marine Corps, this school would be empty.”

But mistakes from the past continue to haunt Sheppard. Next December, when the promotion board has literally three seconds to look over each of the 3000 applications for first sergeant, Sheppard’s court-martial will stand out like a big red 'X'.

“Knowing that’s going to show up on the board makes me work even harder,” Sheppard says.

But Sheppard is confident that he will be one of the 200 selected for the promotion. He already has been promoted three times since his court-martial.

“Obviously there was something in my paperwork that showed them I still had something to offer. There’s a reason why they kept me around.” Sheppard says. “I’m really counting on getting that promotion next year.”

The promotion to first sergeant will put Sheppard one step closer to his overall goal of retiring as a sergeant major; the highest rank possible in the Marine Corps.

“I was a dirt bag. I did everything I tell these kids not too,” Sheppard says. “[This promotion] gives me a purpose. It allows me to say I’m something. People talk about five seconds of fame. This is mine, it's just lasting 30 years.”

Andres Romau, or “Iggy Baby” as his close friends call him is just a 20 year-old, skinny, darked eyed kid from Overland Park, Ks. Accept when he’s feeling frisky and puts on his big billed hat covered with drawings of eyeballs, some skinny black jeans, and a pretty amazing pair of shiny gold high tops. Who would guess that this one person, with some of the most amazing pairs of sneakers this world has ever seen, would have so much passion and the ability to make any somber party into a raging good time.
“The point of a good dance party is good music and good people, just moving expressing yourself, that’s the vibe I want to put out,” says Iggy.

Iggy has been working his way up the DJ chain for a few years now. What started off as a mere hobby has become a way of life and a passion which he now has mastered and come to define himself by.
“I’ve always been really into music, I used to make all my friends mixed tapes and CD’s,” Iggy said. “At parties I was always the one close to the stereo. I loved to pick out fun music, it thrilled me when people would get excited about what was on and start dancing.
Iggy hosts a number of DJ sessions in Lawrence, Kansas City and does some shows in Chicago as well. He got his first big break at the Bottleneck when he was asked to take over the ever-popular dance party Neon.
“Well, I wouldn't say I just got asked,“ admits Iggy, “I mean I stalked that place, every week I’d come in with a new mix tape for them, to show them what my show would be like. Finally they let me get up on stage one night and I’ve been doing it every week for over a year now.”
After gaining more confidence doing the Neon shows, which are always packed with indie kids, pixies girls, and your occasional emos dancing their brains out, Iggy decided he wanted to go even bigger. He started taking some of his tapes to the Jackpot bar and concert venue. Luckily, the news of his popularity at Neon had traveled and the Jackpot liked his mixes. They told him that every last Saturday of the month he would get his own show. Ecstatic, Iggy began to realize his talent and that he could actually make a living DJing. His show, called “Get Crunk” attracts hundreds of Lawrence partyers out to have fun and listen to tunes that will get them pumped up every month.
“My sets are all about what makes people want to dance. ‘Get Crunk’ is great because I get to play whatever I want, and I like to mix my sets up a lot. Play lots of different kinds of music,” says Iggy.
Iggy sets are mostly electronic music, but sometimes he’ll mix in a little house, brazilian and hip-hop music. Most of his selections are not mainstream, but occasionally he’ll throw in a popular radio hit to please the crowd. Now Iggy does more that just put songs in a row on a playlist, he mixes his own beats and creates his own works of art.
“My Mac changed my life, I got into all the music software, now it’s second nature for me, I’ll sit for hours and mix beats and put things together, it doesn’t feel like work, it’s just fun,” said Iggy.
When asked what his main influences have been in the music word, he replied “Daft Punk” without a seconds hesitation. Daft Punk is a French electronica band that exploded onto the scene in the U.S. in the late 1990’s, their music is said to be the most successful electronic music collaborations of all time. Iggy incorporates many of their songs into his own recordings.
Dane Wallace, Iggy’s roommate and an aspiring DJ himself, had nothing but praise when asked about Iggy and his DJ sets. Wallace was sitting on Iggy’s computer with his headphones on mixing for the entire duration of the interview.
“Mixing and DJing is not easy, some people think they know what music people want to hear, but they don’t and there is nothing worse than a bad DJ, it can really kill the life of a party,” said Wallace.
Wallace has only been learning music software for the last eight months, and while he has improved, his mixing sounds very amateurish next to Iggy’s. However, Wallace has been DJing a set for KJHK for the last two years, and has gotten much acclaim for his spots on the university radio station.
“Like Iggy, I have been into music my whole life. I would like to be as good at mixing as Iggy is someday. He just has a natural ear for how things should sound, It’s not exactly something that can be taught.”

Krysten Boogaard’s legs are blotched with black and blue, her arms covered with a smattering of grape-sized bruises. Such is the body of a college basketball player.

Boogaard spends her days hustling from class to workouts to practice to tutoring sessions and finally to sleep before repeating the cycle. Such is the life of a college basketball player.

When speaking of her role models, she bypasses the common heroes. Hoopsters such as Michael Jordan and Lisa Leslie don’t mean nearly as much to the 19-year-old as four hockey players do. Such is the source of inspiration for a college basketball player raised in a hockey-centric family in the heart of Canada.

“I look at the way my brothers focus on what they do and how hard they work,” Boogaard said of her four older brothers. “I’m driven by what they’ve done and I follow them. I try to work had all the time so I can be as successful as them.”

Boogaard’s brothers have put in plenty of hard work and enjoyed plenty of success. Derek, 24, and Aaron, 21, play professional hockey in America while former hockey players Curtis, 34, and 23-year-old Ryan have permanently stepped off of the ice. Curtis recently followed in his father’s footsteps by joining the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

Boogaard and her four brothers grew up in Regina, Saskatchewan, a moderately-sized city about 100 miles north of the United States border. Len Boogaard raised his four sons as hockey players through-and-through, leaving Krysten free to choose between sports such as swimming, volleyball, figure skating and basketball. Len said by the time Krysten finished high school, it was clear which sport she was cut out for. After all, she stood 6-foot-5.

Krysten owes her height to nature– Len is 6-2 and her mother, Joanne, is 6 feet tall – but her toughness to some nurturing at the hands of her brothers. Derek, Ryan and Aaron all went through their teens around the same time as Krysten, meaning the four could barely make it through the day without playing out their sibling rivalries.

“It was challenging because they’d always beat up on me – but I guess that’s what older brothers do,” Krysten said. “I think it’s definitely made me tougher in all different aspects, both physically and mentally.”

Boogaard had to deal with another challenge in her early years: Being a basketball player in a family and a country full of hockey players. Krysten’s mother played basketball in high school and served as an early mentor. Joanne coached Krysten’s first youth team and assisted her during her years in junior and senior high. But Len was far from a basketball enthusiast. He said he did not understand the American game when Krysten first started playing and is still wrapping his mind around the game’s concepts.

“Having the boys playing hockey so much, I was never really able to get into the basketball, per se,” Len said. “I can’t remember watching basketball until her high school years. To me, it’s still a bit of a novelty.”

Since basketball was treated as an afterthought by most Canadians, Boogaard experienced difficulty finding strong competition to play with and against. Saskatchewan did not offer AAU basketball or the opportunity to travel to high-level tournaments, so Krysten decided to take a year off from studies immediately after high school to hone her skills at the Canada Basketball’s Elite National Development Academy in Hamilton, Ontario. Boogaard said she reinforced her fundamental basketball skills and gained physical strength at the Academy. Her team traveled around Canada and the northern United States competing against junior colleges and national teams. As a member of the Academy, she traveled to Colorado Springs, Colo., to compete against America in the World Qualifiers Tournament. Canada lost the game, but Derek cheered Krysten up with a visit during the event.

“It meant a lot to have Derek there watching me and giving me so much support,” Krysten said. “It proved how close we all are to each other.”

Boogaard has only logged one official game as a Jayhawk, but she has showcased a skill set that could make her a dominant post player in the Big 12 Conference. Her arms are rail-thin but unbelievably long – custom-made for shot-blocking – and her legs and base are formidable enough to hold steady against physical opponents. Boogaard scored five points using a nice shooting touch and hustled up and down the court with all the quickness of a guard.

“She’s a 6-5 kid who really benefited from an extra year of work at the academy,” Kansas coach Bonnie Henrickson said. “She’s long and she’s lanky, but she’s in the middle of the pack when we run sprints – she’s certainly not finishing last. She’s a physical kid.”

Boogaard no longer has to jockey for position at the dinner table or deal with a rambunctious bevy of brothers. She spends evenings taking in movies with fellow freshman basketball player Nicollette Smith and nights sleeping off the day’s work: Work that she struggles through with help from her brothers. For now, the inspiration comes via text message. But if she carries the Jayhawks deep into the postseason, she said she is sure her favorite hockey players will make it to every game.

Such is the dream of a college basketball player.

She walked onto the concrete ring. She was confined to less than 40 square feet for the next few minutes. She placed her size 12 1/2 feet directly under her 6-foot-2-inch frame. As soon as she was properly situated, she lifted the steel ball onto her shoulder. She pivoted one, two, three times until she finally reached the wooden arch. With all her might, she threw her hips, shoulders and then the ball forward and watched it land yards away.

She is Stephanie Horton, and she is the best female shot putter at the University of Kansas. Her freshman year of high school in Tigard, Ore., four teachers approached her and convinced her to try out for track. Unknowingly, they were persuading her to improve her negative body image.

“All the way when I was growing up girls were mean, till I started doing well,” Stephanie said.

In a culture where girls grow up seeing extremely skinny models, body image often turns negative for a woman larger than the norm. The American Psychological Association says that 75 to 80 percent of women indicate displeasure with the size or shape of their bodies. Before track and field, girls made fun of Stephanie’s size until she had little self-esteem. A successful track and field career reversed her negative body image, leading to her confidence as an athlete that pushed her to try out for the Olympics this summer and to pursue other goals.

Growing up, Stephanie was always taller and broader than other girls and often other boys. Now she is 10 inches taller than the average height for women. The girls picked on her, although not physically. They whispered behind her back and alienated her until she decided boys were more trustworthy as friends.

“That’s kind of carried on now,” she said. “I have a lot of guy friends because I don’t necessarily trust all the girls and the gossip.”

As Stephanie matured, her father said she started hanging with the wrong kind of people. She was not confident with her large size because she couldn’t see the advantages of her size. Additionally, her attention deficit disorder made school and social activities difficult.

“If it hadn’t been for track, I don’t know where she would have ended up,” her father Jim Horton said.

Stephanie’s track career began her first year of high school. Her size made her a natural favorite as a thrower, but with no real throws coach and an occasional unwelcoming attitude, it was a rocky start. Her father said she had problem with her original coaches, so her sophomore year he took over and started training with her. He spent three hours a night with her and even regulated her eating habits.

Eventually the training began to show, on and off the field. Her freshman year, she broke her high school’s shot put record. Her sophomore year she continued to improve, and teachers also started to notice a difference in her attitude at school.

“They were amazed at how much she changed. She used to always looked at the floor, and now she was always looking up and confident,” Jim said.

Her involvement in physical activity was part of the reason her body image improved, said Kathy Rose-Mockry, program director for the Emily Taylor Women’s Resource Center. Being involved in sports or excelling physically could help a girl have better body image, she said.

“Girls who have the opportunities to feel good about the bodies they have are more likely to challenge some of the current stereotypes about what it is to be attractive in our culture,” Rose-Mockry said.

Stephanie said she only recently became comfortable with her body. Her last year of high school she broke the Oregon state record with a throw of 49 feet, 8 inches. Her throws gained national attention when the University of Kansas started aggressively recruiting her and she committed to the school. That year she finally decided that being larger than other girls was OK.

“My senior year I just said ‘screw it,’ you can think what you want,” Stephanie said.
A release from negative body image constraints allowed Stephanie to excel at throwing. At the University, she consistently throws around 50 feet at track meets. The closest throw by a KU woman so far was 47 feet last year. She is friends with the other women throwers and also lifts weights next to men. In fact, she can lift more than 200 pounds, which is comparable to the male throwers.

Now that Stephanie feels comfortable with her new self, she has new goals: to qualify for the Olympics this summer and to become a zoologist when college is over. She is working to lose 50 pounds so she is the size of when she threw furthest. This throw, recorded her senior year, was 52 feet, 7 inches. She needs to improve that length by more than 7 feet to qualify for the Olympics, so she is training vigorously with cardio workouts and extra training.

Stephanie has a plan for when track and the Olympic trials are finished: working with animals. She is earning a degree in evolutionary biology and ecology, the closest degree offered to zoology. A love of animals and nature brought her and her boyfriend Rainer Schiel, Landsberg am Lech, Germany, graduate student, together. They met on dating site and eventually met in person. Rainer, who is much smaller than Stephanie, saw Stephanie as a loving person rather than just seeing her size.

“I was not really intimidated by her size,” he said. “While she is tall and muscular, her friendly character didn’t make me intimidated.”

Now they live together with their two rats and two cats and go out on dates often. While Stephanie used to be a tomboy, now she dresses up for the weekends and even makes her own jewelry to go with her outfit. Rainer sees Stephanie as a confident and beautiful woman, something she didn’t believe before her body image improved.

“She seems to be pretty comfortable with who she is and what she looks like,” Schiel said. “If you’ve ever seen her dressed up she looks really good.”

Now, whenever Stephanie starts to doubt herself, she remembers how successful she has been in track and field. Her father says that she has done many great things and he thinks they all started with throws. Sometimes when she walks on campus, she catches people staring. For that, she has one simple reply.

“I’m damn good at what I do.”

Most of the Kansas football players rush off of the practice field and toward the locker-room at the end of practice everyday. But Patrick Resby takes his time.
Resby gently removes his helmet, steadily bends down to grab a Gatorade and casually glances across the Lawrence campus. He can see everything from the top of buildings on Mount Oread to the backside of Allen Fieldhouse. Then, Resby can’t help but smile.
“Oh yeah, everything paid off in the long run,” Resby said, “Because I made it to a Division One college.”
Resby, a junior defensive back, has a lot of things to grin about these days. At the top of the list rests the fact that he’s a starter on the third-ranked football team in the nation. Resby, who starts at strong safety for the Jayhawks, won the position battle in training camp and has gone on to repair what was a troubled spot for Kansas last season. But it all came so close to never happening.
Resby graduated from Forest Brook High School in Houston in 2004 and accepted a scholarship to play at Texas Christian University. The offer was withdrawn after Resby failed to meet NCAA standards with a low S.A.T score.
He found out so late in the year that his only option was to attend a junior college, attempt to get his academics under control and try to find his way onto a major college football team later. But after he received little attention at Navarro Community College in his first week, Resby thought his heart wasn’t into football anymore.
“I wanted to quit but my father had to talk to me and he told me to stick with it and it would pay off,” Resby said. “I was on the scout team; I mean I never thought I’d be on the scout team. It was just miserable. I have a scholarship to go T.C.U but I wind up at Navarro College on the scout team. It was real bad.”
Resby can laugh about it now but at the time it was anything but funny. He grew up in Texas with his father and five brothers, where they all shared the common interest of football.
Resby lists his father as his hero in the Kansas football media guide and shares the importance of his family with anyone who is willing to listen. Embedded in the culture of the Resby family was football, so it’s easy to see why the thoughts of quitting seem so outlandish now.
“I’ve always played football,” Resby said. “My dad coaches football and I’ve always known football.”

But at Navarro College Resby did more than just play football, he spent hours every day on school work. He said he became a mainstay in the academic advisor’s office, all the while he dreamt of getting another shot to play for a major college football team.
Resby now wants to become a teacher when he graduates from college. Kansas head coach Mark Mangino said that attending Navarro helped Resby meet his ultimate goals in more than one area.
“I think he probably grew as a player and a person in junior college,” Mangino said. “We really liked him on tape and he ended up being a guy that really wanted it. We’re thrilled to have him.”
But not as thrilled as Resby is to be in Lawrence. He’s quiet for the most part and careful to answer any question sent his way without sounding pretentious. His teammates describe him as happy and hard working.
It’s almost expected that a natural competition would exist between Resby and sophomore defensive back Justin Thornton. Thornton subs in for Resby and plays at his position often on passing downs. But Thornton said Resby’s contagious attitude made the two friends instead of rivals.
“We’re good friends off the field. We talk every day, we joke, we laugh,” Thornton said. “We don’t fight about competition, playing time or whatever. That doesn’t affect us. He’s always trying to get better.”
Resby’s happy go lucky mentality dissipates when he runs onto the football field on Saturdays. It is replaced with a sheer desire to win. Resby transforms from shy, supporting teammate to beastly headhunter.
He patrols the middle of the field like he’s a security guard working at a maximum security prison, quick to attack ball carriers who escape from the defensive front seven. When asked about Resby, the first word that came out of defensive coordinator Bill Young’s mouth was “physical”. Resby himself admits the best part of his game is his aggressiveness.
He endeared himself to Jayhawk fans in the first game of the season when he landed a gigantic hit near the sidelines on a Central Michigan wide receiver. Resby said the tackle, like all the highlight hits he’s provided, was off of pure instinct. He said all of the nation’s best tacklers posses a similar instinct.
But not many of those players had to salvage their football careers from the bottom of a junior college depth chart like Resby did. Resby knows he’s still got work to do if he wants to help Kansas reach the national championship game. But in the meantime, he still thinks about the day Mangino told him that he would be the starter.
“I had no words for it. I was so happy,” Resby said. “I called my pops and told him the good news. It was a way better conversation, it all paid off in the end.”
Resby finds himself repeating those last few words again and again. The rest of his teammates are in the locker room now and he starts walking that way slowly but surely after reflecting on his past for the last 15 minutes. Resby doesn’t hurry anywhere because he is right where he wants to be. It all paid off in the end.

The duplex where Martin Jones lives now is much nicer than where he was for a while. It’s clean, calm and straightforward, much like the man that lives there. Located near the back of Lawrence Presbyterian Manor, the duplex is a place where Jones can spend the days of his retirement as he pleases. The thin man with a stern booming voice can be found sitting in his red chair, or eating with his wife Phyllis, who lives on the assisted living floor in the Presbyterian Manor’s main building. But life wasn’t always so wonderful for Martin Jones.

Martin Jones’ story really begins with a story of the United States. Jones enrolled at the University of Kansas in 1940, a year after fighting began in Europe. President Roosevelt had said the United States would not become involved in the war, but Jones had a feeling the United States would be involved in the war very soon. Rather than make excuses or run, Jones joined the University of Kansas branch of the Reserve Officer Training Corps. While this decision was noble, Jones said there were other reasons as to why he joined the ROTC.

“I joined the ROTC so I could avoid the infantry,” Jones said, with a grin.

Jones enrolled in Coast Artillery/Anti Aircraft and was told that he would be allowed to finish school at KU before being deployed. Once again this wasn’t the case. Jones and the 143 other students in the KU ROTC were given an ultimatum by the United States Government: enlist in the army immediately, or be drafted immediately. Naturally, all of them enlisted. After finishing basic training in Camp Wallace, Tex. in September of 1943, Jones was sent to officer candidate school. Following officer candidate school, he was assigned as a Second Lieutenant in the 106th Infantry Division. Second Lieutenant was the lowest commissioned officer position, and being in the infantry was what Jones was trying to avoid by joining the ROTC at KU.

Jones was sent overseas, and in December of 2004 found himself along with his division guarding the edge of Germany, a place the allies had captured. Jones and the three regiments of the 106th Infantry Division were in charge of holding the area for the allies. Looking back, Jones can see many flaws in the 106 Infantry’s orders.

“We were given very little combat training, and our forces were spread out very thinly across the area,” Jones said. “It was meant to be army of occupation. We weren’t supposed to have to fight.”

The forces were spread out so far because according to U.S. intelligence reports, the Germans had no tanks or heavy artillery in the area, so any offensives by the Germans would be small and wouldn’t last long. General Dwight Eisenhower also thought that the Germans would never attack through Belgium or Luxembourg, countries that bordered the area of the Germany the allied forces were occupying.

Both of these beliefs proved to be huge blunders. On Dec. 16, 1944 the Germans attacked heavily with full artillery along the Luxembourg and Belgium borders. The ensuing battle would be called the Battle of Ardennes by the U.S. Army, but would come to be known by most as the Battle of the Bulge. With Jones’ division spread out so far and with little combat training, it was sure to be an uphill battle. The men were instructed to hold their positions at all costs, and food and supplies would be dropped them through the air. Three days later, Jones’ brigade had run out of ammunition, but no more had come via plane because Germany mounted the attack during a stormy season, effectively negating the Allies’ air superiority.

Cold, hungry and dispirited, Jones received orders to surrender to the German forces. In total more than 7,000 allied forces were captured by the Germans in the Battle of the Bulge. Jones and his men were taken by German soldiers, and walked to a train station. At the station, dozens of trainloads of prisoners of war were loaded up. Each dark car was filled to the brim with prisoners. Jones was loaded into a car with hundreds of other men, and spent hours doing nothing but sitting in the car among the other dejected prisoners. That night, the British Air Force bombed the railroad yards, in an attempt to weaken German forces. In total, 25 two and a half ton bombs exploded on the railroad yards that night. The car Jones was in rattled off the track. Other cards tipped up on their sides, sending prisoners flying throughout the car. 85 American prisoners in the station’s main building were killed when a bomb directly hit the building. Jones says the incident was the worst as a prisoner of war.

“It was the most helpless I’ve ever felt in all my life,” Jones said. “Locked in a boxcar while the yard was bombed; nothing but the sound of explosions and the screams of other men.”

Christmas morning, the prisoners were lead farther into Germany. By this time, the Germans were losing lots of territory, so the prisoners were moved farther into Germany so as to be harder to find by the allied forces. They arrived on foot at a prisoner of war camp in Frankfurt. Jones was placed in a room with sixty other men. The room had a non-working toilet in the corner with a puddle of water around it. By this time, Jones was starting to get in pretty bad health condition. His feet were badly frostbitten from walking through a stream in the cold weather, and eating nothing but small bowls of soup infested with dead worms had caused Jones’ weight to dip from 155 pounds to around 120.

On Jan.10, Jones was once again moved by the German forces. This time he and the other officers were packed back into boxcars and sent to another camp in Hamelberg. This camp had much better conditions, but the food was the same. Jones and the officers slept on wooden bunks and used straw as mattresses. Soon after the move, the allied forces hatched a plan to get the prisoners back. Called the “Baum Raid” allied tankers swarmed the camp at Hamelberg in an attempt to take the prisoners to safety. But there was one major problem. The general in charge of the mission thought there were about 350 prisoners at the camp. In actuality there were around 1,350. The tankers did their best to take the men, but because there were so many the Germans quickly recaptured the men. Jones had been free for about eight hours. The prisoners were taken to Nuremburg. Soon after, allied troops bombed Nuremburg and Jones found himself caught in the middle of the bombing. Jones and the other prisoners hit the ground. As the men lay in the dirt, they could hear bombs explode around them. In total, more than 1,000 planes bombed that day. Jones popped up after the bombing and discovered that he had no major injuries. However, one of the men around him was not so lucky. The man had lost both of his legs and was bleeding profusely.

“I’ll never forget that,” Jones said. “He seemed to be so calm, sitting there smoking that cigarette. He didn’t live a minute after the bombing stopped.”

After the bombing, the prisoners were taken to a prisoner of war camp in Mossburg. Two days later, the allies liberated the camp. The troops then took Jones and the prisoners to an airfield, where they began to feed the now liberated prisoners six small meals per day. Because of the way they had been fed, none of the men could keep any of the food down. The men were quickly declared fit to go home, and sailed to New York Harbor on June 9, 1945. Jones received his discharge orders from the military on Jan. 9, 1946, and returned to his hometown of Osage City.
What Martin Jones went through in Germany needs little context, but to find more about how difficult being a prisoner of war is, one needs to look no further than the respect shown to Jones by Al Sellen. Sellen was a member of the 26th Infantry and was wounded in the Battle of the Bulge when hit by shrapnel. He also happens to live on the other side of Jones' duplex.

“I was able to spend the rest of the European war in a hospital,” Sellen said. “He had to be a prisoner, without adequate food. I was out of that while he was still over there.”

Sellen says the main joy of meeting Jones has been the ability for the two to share stories and help relive their days in the military.

“We both have a common interest in knowing about the battle,” Sellen said. “We can always talk about that. It’s very helpful.”

Remembering the battle, and not just forgetting has always been important to Martin. In September, Martin returned with a group of veterans to Germany for the first time, and visited the places where he was captured during the war, along with concentration camps where Jewish people were kept by the Nazis.

“Remembering is very important for me,” Jones said. “When we visited the Holocaust museum, the man who gave us a tour was Jewish. I asked him, ‘how can you do this job?’ and he told me he had to remember. Jewish people, German people, everyone thanked us. That’s what makes it important.”

Delimer waved his staff in front of him in a threateningly. A sickly green aura swirled around the skull shaped head of the staff. His posturing inspired little fear in his foe, perhaps because his foe has three times his size, or perhaps because he straddled a fierce blue dragon. It quickly dawned on Scott Anderson the he might have gotten Delimer a little over his head. This realization came too late as a man-sized fireball crashed into Delimer. He died on that blasted plain underneath a sheet of swirling black clouds.

Delimer’s ghost began the trek back to his corpse to regain his possessions and, with any luck, avenge himself.

On the other side of the computer screen Anderson peers at the monitor, frustrated at how difficult a simple task had gotten. The objective had been to capture the soul of an enemy in a stone for use in his magical incantations. The individual on the dragon had not been part of the plan. Now that dragon-riding son-of-a-gun had to go.

Given time to properly prepare for combat Delimer made quick work of the dragon rider.

Anderson created Delimer more than a year ago and has played him and other characters he has created on World of Warcraft for more than 68 days in that time. That equates to approximately 1,600 hours of Anderson’s very real life spent in the virtual world of Azeroth.

Anderson is a product of new strategies the US Army has employed in recent years to gain recruits. The Army has gone to great lengths to appeal to the computer enthusiasts and gamers of America’s youth.

In 2002 the Army commissioned a video game for use in recruitment. The resulting game, America’s Army, put the player through a virtualized basic training and culminated in battles only after the player graduated from the training. The Army distributed the shooter through recruiters and the Internet for free. The latest iteration of the game was released in September and has been downloaded more than 2.2 million times from the Fileplanet website, a popular source for video game downloads. The Army plans to bring the title from its PC roots to the Xbox 360 before the end of the year.

After graduating from high school Anderson joined the Army. Immediately after receiving his signing bonus he blew a good chunk of it on a state of the art laptop. In the month before he shipped out for basic training Anderson and his friends went on a gaming binge that should earn them a place in the halls of nerd legend, and the unemployment line.

Ultima Online was the game and there was no room in life for anything else. They stopped to sleep, but made sure to time their rest with maintenance times for the game servers, so that no valuable play time would be lost. So from 8 a.m. to 12 a.m. every day they rested, then woke in time for the servers to re-launch.

When Anderson left for basic training in July of 2000 he took a short hiatus from the digital world. Just as soon as he graduated from basic training and arrived at his first duty station he resumed his digital life.

Even the work the Army set on him could not keep him from his gaming. As soon as his duties ended he rushed back to his room to play his newest diversion, Everquest.

“I played eight hours a night, every night,” said Anderson. “Sometimes I didn’t change out of my uniform.”

The game provided a link to home. Online he could see his friends from Kansas and enjoy doing quests with them even though he was in Seattle.

In 2003, more than halfway through Anderson’s tour in the Army, the United States crossed the Kuwaiti desert and invaded Iraq. He went with his unit into the sand and took with him a few essentials. Among these items were his laptop and a shiny Playstation 2.

Anderson’s job was in Iraq included writing security briefs for his unit.

“I’d like to say they made their way up to the President,” said Anderson.

Additionally, he went on patrols and confiscated weapons as well as handled the detainment of combatants. Confiscating weapons produced some interesting diversion from the boredom that stalked the soldiers.

“We kept all the good ones so we could shoot them.” Anderson said of the weapons his unit confiscated.

The part about the Iraqi part of his tour that he most likes discussing is the gaming. The Internet connection at the base he was located was not reliable. The signal his unit received originated on the eastern coast of the United States and bounced of satellites until it arrived at his computer. The end product was not at all suited to his needs. After many desperate attempts Anderson realized that his affair with online gaming would have to end.

His understanding mother sent him a portable screen for his Playstation 2 so that he could play it instead. The Playstation 2 returned with him from Iraq caked in a fine yellow dust that has never washed off.

“You just learn to accept it, because no matter what, it doesn’t come off.” said Anderson.

A few months after returning from Iraq, Anderson met Kim Riffel while in Wichita. The couple is now engaged and both are attending the University of Kansas where Anderson is pursuing a bachelor’s degree in psychology. While Anderson was willing to tell Riffel anything she asked, especially after the engagement, he had not gotten around to telling her how often he played his games.

“I didn’t even know how big a nerd he was until I heard the stories.” said Riffel.

Riffel has forgiven Anderson for his nerdy shortcomings and the two intend to marry in 2009.

People usually stop what they’re doing to stare. Housewives look up from their flower beds and immaculate lawns to catch a glimpse. Cars slow just to watch the dreadlocked rider effortlessly snake down hills throughout Lawrence. It’s not Mark Lewis’ skateboard that fascinates people. It’s the way he rides it. The flowing downhill movement defies reason, at least until you examine the board more closely.

In fact, Lewis’ ride isn’t a skateboard at all. It’s a freebord, and its six wheels allow riders to carve and slide down hills as if they were on mountain slopes rather than urban pavement.

“Freebording is basically a simulation of snowboarding,” Lewis said. “It’s like taking snowboarding to the streets. It rides just like a snowboard and that’s what made it so appealing to me in the first place.”

Lewis said the desire to snowboard year round was enough motivation to convince him to spend more than $300 on his first board in June. The concept is simple. Bindings hold the rider’s feet in place while two rotating wheels located between extra wide trucks allow riders to rotate 360 degrees. The result is the ability to control speed by cutting back and forth in wide swaths.

Learning to ride isn’t nearly as simple. Lewis said that learning to freebord was more difficult than snowboarding because the added friction provided by rough pavement maked it more physically demanding. And unlike snowboarding, freeborders face a much less forgiving landing and a steeper learning curve because rock-hard concrete punishes any mistakes.

Living in Lawrence gave him the ideal location to pursue his hobby, Lewis said.

“Lawrence is a pretty good town to ride in because there are lots of hills,” he said. “Around the campus area there are a lot of good runs, but you just have to watch out for cops.”

It’s a lesson learned from experience. Lewis said he has been stopped more than once by police officers either curious about how the board worked or determined to get him off the street. Lewis’ first run-in with police came just days after purchasing his freedbord, when he was practicing late at night at the Kansas Union parking garage.

“It was one of the first nights that I had the board and I was just trying to learn how to ride it,” Lewis said. “A parking garage is a really good place because there is a mild hill and I could take the elevator back up. Basically I was riding it for about an hour and finally a cop was sitting at the bottom when I came down one time.”

Despite being banned from riding in the garage, Lewis’ passion for freebording soon took up nearly all his free time. Marissa Nathanson, Lewis’ girlfriend, said that once freebording grabbed his interest he didn’t look back.

“He always asked me to follow him around while he rode so he wouldn’t have to walk back up the hills,” Nathanson said. “He even mapped out runs through campus and the rest of Lawrence so he would know all the hills he’s ridden. It got to the point where he was riding a couple hours almost every night.”

Little by little Lewis’ dedication began to pay off as his skills and confidence increased each time he stepped on the board. He purchased a headlamp and reflectors so he could ride at night and invested in safety equipment to deal with the speeds he was reaching on steep inclines. Lewis said the fastest he has ever ridden was between 25 and 30 miles per hour.

The key to freebording safely is the capability to maintain control on pavement the same way snowboarders do on snow — through carefully calculated turns.

“As long as the equipment is holding up I feel pretty confident because I have the freedom to turn,” Lewis said. “Every time you turn you can cut off speed and pretty much stop on a dime if you have to.”

In August, Lewis’ equipment and confidence caught up to him. While out with a friend, a smooth, spacious sidewalk near the Lied Center piqued his interest. Despite leaving his helmet, knee pads, elbow pads and wrist guards at home, Lewis decided to add another hill to his growing list.

Unfortunately, the adhesive attaching one of the two rotating wheels to the board didn’t hold up to the pressure. Lewis’ friend, Kouri Linder, was following him in his car when he noticed just how much speed he had built up. Linder said the speedometer had climbed to 20 mph before he realized something might not be right.

“He started to swerve a little bit and I could tell there was something wrong because he never really looks out of control on the board,” Linder said.

Lewis said he knew he was in trouble when he lost the ability to turn. One wheel came loose, leaving him unable to slow down or stop. He bailed immediately rather than allow the board to dictate his fall.

“It was really weird because I rolled twice and immediately popped back up on my feet,” he said. “I knew I had hurt my wrist but my head was spinning so fast that I really didn’t feel that much pain initially. My eyes were kind of blacking out and my hearing was going in and out. I was really out of it.”

But the pain eventually came. Linder said the two considered going to the hospital because they were worried Lewis might have suffered a concussion. After trying to deal with the mounting pain on his own, Lewis finally paid a visit to emergency room doctors who told him he had shattered the radius bone in his wrist.

His only option was to have surgery to place a metal plate in his wrist. Lewis said doctors told him he couldn’t lift anything more than five pounds, let alone ride, for the next two months.

In October, the doctor gave him permission to go back to riding the streets of Lawrence. The three-inch scarlet scar from surgery is a constant reminder of one costly mistake, but Lewis said he has no plans to stop doing what he loves.

“I like it too much to stop,” he said. “I don’t feel like I have to let up any. Maybe just be a little bit more careful.”

Kelly Mesi blends in with the hundreds of other University of Kansas students walking to class. She bartends at the Hawk on Saturday nights with a positive attitude and big smile. To those around her, Mesi seems like the average girl living up her senior year of
college. However, from day to day she wrestles with an invisible
struggle. Four months ago she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.

"One of the most confusing things about MS is there are times when the person is totally symptom free and it looks invisible," said Melissa Manning, Director of the KU Office of Disablilties. "MS is episodic, just because someone isn't showing a system doesn't mean they are disability free."

After a semester studying abroad in Paris and Florence, Mesi had journeyed on the very last leg of the trip when she felt the first signs of a problem.
"It felt like someone had rubbed Vaseline in my eye," Mesi said. "I couldn't get it to focus, my vision was really foggy."

Hoping it would go away, Mesi enjoyed the time with her family who had come to Europe for the last week of her trip. While traveling on a train to their last stop, Venice, the vision in her right eye vanished completely.

Once that happened, the family rushed to a hospital in Venice. Mesi automatically knew something was wrong.
"It's scary when they get you into the appointments so fast, it kind
of means something bad," Mesi said.

Within two days, a Chicago hospital admitted Mesi for testing. It turns out that a change in vision can often signal the onset of MS. Indeed, MRI testing confirmed that Mesi might have the disease. The first doctor who mentioned the words "Multiple Sclerosis," however,
was less than sensitive, Mesi said.

"The doctor looked at me and said 'You know you probably have MS,'
then he paused and said 'How does it feel to be faced with your own
mortality so young? Then I just pictured myself in a wheelchair and
burst out crying.'"

The doctor speculated that Kelly could have MS, however, he could not be positive. Diagnosis of the disease is difficult because testing often proves inconclusive. For example, MS will show up on an MRI as little white sections -- called plaque-- on the brain. However, concussions and other prior head injuries can cause plaque as well.

"No one can tell you exactly what MS is or where it comes from which
makes it very hard to diagnosis," said William Dixon a doctor Watkins Health Center.

A three-day hospital stay and an intense round of steroids later, Mesi regained full vision in her right eye. Although her vision returned, the doctors could still not tell her whether or not she had MS.

"Time is sometimes the only way to tell," said Dr. Dixon.

The new semester began just like it always had, the hustle of new classes and moving into a new house with 13 girls kept Mesi busy. Rarely thinking about the possibility of having MS, she led her life normally. She attended class, bartended on weekends and enjoyed her return to Kansas after a semester away.

In mid-October, the healthy facade faded. Mesi experienced a second relapse on the morning of midterms after having stayed up all night studying.

"The vision in my right eye looked like a movie reel that kept
spinning. I was so scared and so worried," she said.

Mesi and her family knew that a second relapse probably meant that this was for
sure MS. Within a few hours, Kelly was back in Chicago getting another MRI. This time, more plaque appeared. The specialist at Loyola confirmed what the Mesi's had been dreading to hear. More plaque meant that she was officially diagnosed with MS. MS affects the messages that are sent from the brain to the rest of the body, which would explain the vision problems that Kelly experienced.

"Its like having squirrels gnaw at the wiring in your house, things
begin to short out," Dr. Dixon said.

According to the National MS Society, more than 400,000 people in the United States suffer from multiple sclerosis. Each week more than 200 people throughout the world are newly diagnosed. A usually unemotional Mesi, spent fall break crying and watching home videos with her sister.

"Then I snapped out of it and thought about everybody else who is so
much worse off than I am. I thought abut the kids who suffer from leukemia and women whose husbands are in Iraq, my problems are so much smaller. From that point on, I decided that I wasn't going to let it stop my life," Mesi said.

Mesi flew back to school and made some serious changes to her lifestyle. While there is no cure for MS, a healthy and low stress lifestyle can dramatically decrease the chances for another relapse. Each detail of her life is now carefully planned out. All saturated fats were cut out of her diet and the amount of good fats and protein was increased dramatically. For physical activity she swims several times a week at the Lawrence Aquatic Center.

The stress of mid-terms apparently brought on Mesi's relapse. With that knowledge, Kelly now lives with a very structured schedule to minimize day to day stresses. She works on homework well on advance of its due dates and schedules naps into each day's routine. Recognizing fatigue as a common symptom of MS, she even keeps track of her food intact and exercise and symptoms in a journal. Because Kelly does not have symptoms of MS everyday, her new routine serves as a daily reminder that her life has changed.

"Things that I never used to do remind me that I have it. When I cant drink pop, write in my journal, grocery shopping it reminds me that things different now," Mesi said.

MS is known as the invisible illness because in some cases, like Mesi’s, symptoms it cannot be seen.

"A lot of people don't tell but that was never an option for me, why keep it a secret? It's not something to be ashamed of. It's not something I should I hide," Mesi said.

Mesi has taken her diagnosis and has run with it. She wants to speak out about the disease because she is young and has many opportunities available to educate others about MS.

"I started talking to other people out there with MS and I realized that I should get out there and be proactive and do fund-raising," Mesi said.

During National MS Awareness Month, observed in March, Mesi plans to host a benefit called "Cocktail For a Cure" at the Granada Theater. The event aims to educate the public and raise awareness for MS.

"You have to be able to sit back and laugh at it all so that's what the night is going to be about. Everyone getting drunk and having fun. There will even be a green drink called Inferion which is the name of my medicine," Mesi said.

While Mesi's life may have changed drastically in the past few months her spirit has not wavered.

"I still enjoy life, I have amazing friends and I am living everyday to the fullest. I wouldn't ask for it any other way."

It was 1988 and Katie Holmes was late. Struggling for time she decided to put her uniform on before leaving. As is the case with most instance of a person being late, Holmes was pulled over for speeding. However, it was the police officer that was in for the surprise. There sat Holmes. From the neck up she appeared normal, pulled together, but from the neck down was the other half of the KU’s beloved Baby Jay costume, scrunched into Holmes car.
“I think it was the one instance where a police officer understood that I was pressed for time so he just let me go,” Holmes said.

Her days of cheering on the KU crowd live only in pictures and memories now, but Holmes still has the spunk of any spirit squad member. Her small stature and spunky attitude leaves no question that this figure skating teacher is the center of attention. While entertaining her husband, a therapist and Holmes' son, she pointed to picture after picture of her time as one of KU’s mascots.
Originally from San Diego, Cali., Holmes grew up adoring another mascot. While stories continued to circulate the room Holmes rushed to show her most prized possession, a stuffed animal standing a foot tall with the writing “KGB” across its chest- the name of a local San Diego radio station.
“It’s the Famous Chicken! He’s great at gags,” Holmes proclaimed.
The Famous San Diego Chicken brings Holmes back to the days of Padres games. Holmes father had season tickets to the baseball games, and she attended all home games, where she saw the Famous Chicken mascot. She got the stuffed animal through a skating coach, who knew Holmes love for the mascot.
Holmes left California, and the Padres, for the University of Kansas. Aside from her sorority activities and laying out the University Daily Kansan, Holmes wanted to fit another activity into her busy schedule.
She set her sights on Baby Jay, Big Jay’s charismatic, vibrant sidekick.
On Oct. 9, 1971, the original Baby Jay broke out of her egg during the Homecoming football game against Kansas State. The costume, fashioned together by Amy Hurst Rachman and her father, cost only $53 and a summer to create, but the animations have taken years to perfect.
Holmes personality fit the high spirit and enthusiasm demanded of the position. Twenty-one years later, Holmes became the animation that kept thousands of KU fans excited.
“You have got to keep moving in the costume. No one wants to look at a dead mascot,” Holmes said.
Holmes loved donning her new outfit. Big and Baby Jay often socialized with other mascots. Truman the Tiger, the University of Missouri’s mascot let Holmes, in rollerblades, hang onto his tail while he dragged her around the stadium. However, football games are challenging for the mascots.
“It’s so hot and you have to keep dancing, so we would only perform for a half. Whoever wore the costume second was in for it, Lysol was a must,” Holmes said.
Holmes days as Baby Jay are some of her best memories. Between rooting on the football team or cheering the basketball team to victory and socializing with the crowd still makes her smile.
“It was great I could give the chancellor a hard time and no one could say anything. I mean I’m the mascot what are you going to do?” Holmes said.
Elaine Brady was Holmes advisor during her time as Baby Jay. Through her many years of service to the mascot program at the University, Brady still remembers Holmes. She retired from the position in 1998, but knows first hand Holmes’ spunk.
“She was wonderful. Back then the costumes were very heavy but that didn’t stop her from dancing and entertaining everyone,” Brady said.

Posted by Christine D'Amico on November 14, 2007 7:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)